


Little things

by ChocoNut



Series: Many ways to say I love you [96]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x4 missing scene, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jaime worships his lover's body, Passionate Sex, Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29110587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: The little things Jaime loves about his lover.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Many ways to say I love you [96]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1234904
Comments: 12
Kudos: 81





	Little things

It’s those little things about her that Jaime loves a lot.

The gentle sigh she presses into his skin when he drapes his body over hers, the warmth of her hand on his back, drawing him closer, the heat from her touch melting away his goosebumps, shielding his naked skin from the cold harsh night, the sensation, comforting, yet, wildly erotic. The fire’s burning, the hearth is alive and cracking, but the flames of their desire rise higher than any other with just the way her fingers drift along his skin, with every touch, every kiss and every breath, she warms his heart, bringing every corner of him alive.

The smile he cannot see when he nuzzles her neck, the enticing scent that fills his nostrils when all he does is breathe— _fuck, breathing has never felt this wonderful before!_ The way she quivers when his hand reaches to clasp hers, when his fingers slip easily among hers—it feels just like the way it did in Harrenhal, and again at the feast when he’d lingered into the contact more than necessary. 

She’s the breath of familiarity he’s never realized he so badly needed, yet, there’s something about her that never fails to keep him on his toes be it while sparring or in bed.

The first rays of dawn when they strike her golden locks, the way they bounce across the walls when she tilts her face as he bends to steal a kiss. The slight creases on her forehead when he pulls back, her squirms of pleasure and the gentle fluttering of her lips when he takes them again. The hum that starts someplace deep within her floods him with delight, as do the cries that struggle to break free when he takes on her tongue with his. With a tingle that spreads through him, he sucks away those throaty sounds with pleasure, devouring them when he meets them headlong with his grunts, knocking them down whenever they attempt to rise, keeping up the battle until muted notes of lust are all they are.

The breathing that turns into urgent rasps when his beard bristles her teats, the way she falls for this seductively ticklish trick of his, her hands wandering, telling every inch of skin they explore that she aches for more of this. The ‘ _oh,’_ that is more of an exhale than a word when he presses his lips to a nipple—it shoots through his body, courses through every inch of his rigid cock. The insanely indecent _‘ungh,’_ she lets out when he sucks on her bosom—this side of her, he craves for often, this outburst of what she holds to herself, he loves. He wants to do all it takes to bring out every bit of the passion she conceals from all, to set a match to her and watch her burst into flames . He reaches for the bush between her legs—wiry, decorated with beads of her arousal, it begs for his attention, thirsts for his touch. His cock greets with anticipation the rough calluses of her palm on his back, the nails biting into his flesh when he plucks at her swollen nub, the sting more pleasure than pain. He relishes the way she jolts up into him, the way she offers more of her when he slurps his way along the hard pink nipple that gets harder in his mouth.

Gone are her soft moans; she goes all still when he parts her folds, and when he runs feathery fingertips up and down her slit, her body comes alive again with a violent twitch, with a tug on his hair that orders him to cut the tease and make haste. Her slick skin glides against hers as his fingers breach her slickness, probing, stroking, leaving her shaking from neck to toes. Her naked cry of desire rips through him—there are no stronger words for her need, they leave him grappling with a storm of his own. The shivers he sends rippling through her send a rush of heat to the pit of his belly, the throbs of her pussy stroll down to his loins. The gush of her soft wetness around his skin when she sucks in his fingers throws him right in the face of his arousal, from heavy balls right down to his pulsating tip.

This is just the beginning, just the few of the many things he adores. There’s more to their fiery union, more to her, more of her he wants to slowly uncover.

The helpless whisper to speed things up when his cock bathes in her fresh release, the urgency in her touch when her hand crawls down his arm, those pretty eyes sparking with desire, then fluttering to a close as she yanks him closer.

Her invocation of the gods when he pushes in, the hoarse _‘aah,’_ that bursts past her lips when he edges himself further.

The low-pitched, ' _Jaime,'_ that meets the lump in his throat when he lies there, balls deep in her.

The strong hand cupping his ass when he begins to move, the fingernails raking his skin, teeth scraping his bottom lip as they fall into a rhythm. That delicious slap of flesh mating with flesh when she arches up to meet his thrusts, the heavy panting that welcomes his balls pounding into her belly. 

The chants of his name that soar in tempo when his hips ram into hers, the way she tugs harder at his hair when he goes down harder, drives deeper. Her screams of pleasure when this begins to get out of hand, the way she traps his cock, holds him within her, hers tonight, hers every night.

Her tension seeping through him when he gets frantic—

The soft, ' _Jaime,'_ that has now transcended into an animalistic cry, the essence of his name still blatantly peeping out of her incoherence—this is her desire for him, the mad need to devour his cock, to get to the deepest of him and to get him deeper into her every time he fills her.

Outside, the icy winds are humming, but it’s so bloody hot inside. He’s locked in her arms, her soft warm skin his much-desired respite from the cold. Her eyes flit between open and shut—she’s far from satiated when she pulls him closer as he takes those burning lips in kiss after fierce kiss. 

Her passion is his forge, and he, the sword cast into her depths, slowly melting down, slowly becoming one with her.

She secures his arm in a firm grip—he can feel her soaring, feel her taut belly collide with his, her breasts squeezed hard against his hard chest. Those sweat-streams that rush down to converge at the hollow of her throat make for an enticing sight, the way she arches up into him, inviting his lips, his tongue.

The way she writhes when her tight wetness clamps his length, holding on, clinging to him, then releasing, the way she pushes back when he pushes deeper, her mouth latching on to his shoulder, teeth scraping his flesh, shouting out he’s hers. 

The blood rushing up her neck to her already flushed face when she clamps on to his cock for one breathtaking moment—

The heavy and hoarse ' _Jaime,'_ that’s more than a sound to his ears when her pleasure gets the better of her. 

The softness of contentment when her climax recedes, leaving behind a radiant glow that lights up every freckle, brightens up the room and every corner of his heart.

Her need to meet his need, she moves again, gyrates with him. Slicker than before, she embraces him into her softness. The way she plays with his beard, the way she peppers his neck with tender kisses, the way she tugs at his earlobe with his teeth—she races away with him in his chase for happiness. She’s already been there once, but she wants to go there with him again.

_This—fuck, this—_

The way she holds him when his balls tighten, the way she scatters around his ear gentle words that mention not of love but can be none else, the way her heart talks directly to his when his cock hits her deep one last time.

The way, with a soft kiss, she tells him there can never be another, when he floods her with his bliss.

But this isn’t the end of it. There’s more. The end is yet to come—or this just the beginning?

Like that one long blink and then the coy smile when he expresses his wish to wed her at the Godswood. Words and vows of her consent, Brienne holds back from, but the brightness in her eyes and the kiss she graces him with—they’re more than enough for him. It only feels fit for wordy declarations to be kept away. After all, have their eyes not done the talking all these days?

Like this sense of peace with the world, this comfort he’s never felt before.

This—all of this, he loves about her, but above all of it, more than anything else, he loves _her_.

**Author's Note:**

> The first time I've written something without a single line of dialogue. I hope it has come out well.


End file.
